Buquet's Tale
by FunkyBubble14
Summary: "Il Muto" from Buquet's point of view. Strictly musical based. Be warned, Erik's kinda mean in this one! One-shot.


**A/N: **I saw a visible lack in stories about Buquet...so I wrote one!

Disclaimer-I don't own Phantom. Sad, but true.

Buquet sat above the stage amongst all the various ropes and platforms the stagehands made use of, watching the scene play out below him. Carlotta. Piangi. All the young ballet girls…

Tonight's performance was going fairly well so far, not that he cared. His work at the opera was just a job. He had no interest in theater. Luckily, as a senior stagehand he could afford to sit around during each of the shows and let the _younger_ men handle props and such. _I was young once_, Buquet thought dejectedly. Stronger too. Maybe even handsome, before time and his drinking habits had taken their toll. He gazed longingly at the ballet girls below, sighing in self-pity.

Buquet shook his head and reached to the side, searching for his ever-present bottle of liquor. He found it absent and cursed. He had forgotten, that Giry woman had raided the stagehands' quarters and removed all the alcohol she could find. _Too many drunk stagehands causing trouble with her girls_, he supposed. And even worse, Buquet hadn't yet found time to leave the opera house in search of more. Unintentionally sober, Buquet's senses seemed clear for the first time in months, if not years. He glanced at the Opera Populaire's pride and joy, the chandelier…taking in all its beautiful crystalline details.

Unfortunately, his hearing was sharper too, so when the Phantom's voice rang throughout the theater, Buquet cringed sharply and cursed his forced sobriety.

"DID I NOT INSTRUCT THAT BOX 5 WAS TO BE LEFT EMPTY?"

_Curse that man_, he thought as he put his head in his hands. _Won't he just leave all of us alone? _On most days, he enjoyed any and all signs of the infamous Opera Ghost, as it gave him a change to craft more tales for the young, naïve ballet rats. But today he truly resented the presence of said being.

Buquet dimly registered the ongoing performance below…Carlotta's croaking, the shaking chandelier. He just wanted tonight to be _over_….

Suddenly he felt as if he weren't quite alone. Anxiety, tension, a creeping suspicion that he was being watched overwhelmed the stagehand. He looked over his shoulder and met a pair of glowing, gold eyes.

Buquet jumped to his feet, causing the platform to sway and his head to ache. He held onto on of the lines to steady himself as a figure stepped out of the shadows to stand on the opposite end of the catwalk. Buquet's face briefly flickered with recognition, and then fear. "Good God, he whispered, "it's the Phantom…"

Contrary to popular belief among the residents of the opera house, Buquet had never seen the Phantom. He might have seen the occasional odd flicker of movement among the rafters, but he had always attributed that to his drunken state. And he made up stories to frighten the ballet girls as means of spiting Madame Giry, with whom he had never gotten along very well. And those stories, it turned out, were far from accurate. He had always described the phantom as a deathly pale, ghostly being with a skull as a head, yet the figure before him was unmistakably human. Buquet could see the man's features unusually clearly. A pure white mask covered half of his face, standing out clearly in the dim light. But worst were his eyes. Cold, with no signs of remorse, no regret. He could also see that this man was intelligent in addition to malicious. _This man…he is capable of killing_, Buquet thought just as the Phantom's hand twitched under his cloak, revealing the Punjab lasso that hung at his side. _Well at least that's one detail I managed to get right_, Buquet thought grimly.

The Opera Ghost stepped forward, his eyes never leaving Buquet's. "I hear you've been telling stories about me, Buquet," he said quietly. Buquet shuddered, nerves failing him. "P-please monsieur…I meant nothing by my tales…" he stuttered. "I-I had no intention to…to-I was drunk!"

The Phantom lunged forward and grabbed Buquet by the throat, hauling him into the air. "Well that's hardly my fault, is it?" he said coldly. "You see, my survival depends on secrecy. Mystery. _Fear._ I can't have drunk, _lecherous_ stagehands spreading rumors about me," he stated.

"I…meant…no harm," Buquet choked out. Suddenly he relinquished Buquet and let him fall heavily onto the platform, causing it to shake violently. When he fell, Buquet could see the ballet girls out of the corner of his eye. One of them was definitely watching the rafters…

Buquet was pulled roughly to his feet, seemingly by the Phantom, yet when he turned around there was no one in sight. His heart began to beat rapidly. His breath came in gasps. He turned and found himself face to face with the Phantom. Buquet grimaced and swung wildly at the man, who stopped his attack easily by grabbing him at the wrist. He pushed him forward, almost pitching him off the catwalk entirely onto the stage below. Buquet managed to grab onto one of the lines but when he righted himself the Phantom had disappeared from view again.

"Besides…" a voice whispered menacingly, "if you tell everyone how to counter my weapon…" Buquet gasped and started to panic. _Where was the voice coming from?_ He realized too late that he was in great danger, as the Phantom obviously had the upper hand. Just as the music below was reaching its climax he felt something settle around his throat and tighten. Too late his hands flew up, desperately pulling at the lasso. Suddenly the voice was in his ear. "…then how will I kill anyone who gets in my way?"

_I never meant to get in the way,_ Buquet thought dimly. _But I never…expected it to end…like this. _Then slowly, but surely, everything went black.

Thanks for reading, please review!


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